Though Stars May Fall
Chapter Two: Greeting a Hostile World

By CMK 2004

Docking Bay, Sagittarius Station
Twenty-two standard days have passed

"Have you ever seen anything this size before?" John asked Justine. The battlecruiser Star Shard had docked on one of Sagittarius Station's rotating platforms two hours ago, but John and Justine were only now preparing to disembark. Most of the battlecruiser's personnel had already descended into the station. Sagittarius Station itself was made entirely out of a dull metal that reflected half of the light on it. It took the shape of a long, upright cylinder some hundred and twenty kilometers in length with a ten-kilometer radius. Four gigantic platforms, triangular in shape, were attached to the station's middle, each one spreading nearly a fifty kilometers away from the station. The station was marred on the surface by various viewports, communications arrays, and other necessities. It was also bristling with laser cannons and warhead launchers, both of which showed an especially heavy concentration near the narrowed top of the station. Each platform held twenty fighter complements and could dock a full fleet of battlecruisers. Compared to the station, the Star Shard was positively miniscule.

"Can't say I have," Justine replied. Each of the rotating platform was nearly two kilometers thick; there was supposed to be a complex transportation system contained within each. John and Justine headed for the docking ramp, which led to a port where they could enter one of the platforms. Unlike the Star Shard, which generated gravity via several mass simulators, Sagittarius Station produced its gravity by its slow, steady rotation. It certainly felt more comfortable to the feet than the battlecruiser's artificial gravity. John and Justine strode down the ramp and headed straight for the automated lifts. Their nonessential luggage would stay on the battlecruiser. According to Justine, the Star Shard was staying for three days in order to resupply. Then it would just be a short two day warp jump from the station to Noriath, or so John heard.

Justine explained the arrangements as the lift took them inwards to the center of the station. "You'll be berthed in the barracks, which is located a little beneath these platforms at the station center. I can't join you there, unfortunately, since I have to stay here and help oversee the resupply of the battlecruiser, but you're free to come down here and visit if you'd like. Your room is F-R-2377; I sent your personal belongings ahead into the room. I hope you enjoy your time here, John."

"You too, Justine." The lift stopped and Justine stepped out, pausing only to exchange a quick kiss with John before heading to her own quarters. John leaned back and the lift continued down the tunnel. Somehow, any place seemed empty without Justine in it. He passed time by whistling to himself until the lift stopped at the center of the station. John got out and looked around.

The room in which he found himself was not very high but it was very wide. Elevators lined the outer bulkheads; further inside, stairways provided manual access from floor to floor. John estimated that the ceiling was about five meters above his head. The entire room was well-lit by fluorescent panels built into the ceilings. The floor was lined by stainless steel. John found a computerized map near the lift and spent half an hour committing the entire plan of the station into his mind. There were no viewscreens that provided any look into outer space; John was strangely glad of that, for some reason.

When John arrived at his designated room, he discovered it clean, well-lit, and spacious, easily large enough to comfortably accomodate two people. He also discovered something else not entirely to his liking. "I'm sharing this place with you?" he half-groaned.

Owen Custer laid down a magazine and neatly backflipped over his chair in one fluid motion, landing softly on his feet. "Yep! Count yourself lucky, John; most of these rooms hold four people, or more. Hey, next time you see Justine, be sure to thank her for making these arrangements for us, alright?"

John exaggerated a heavy sigh of strained patience. "Very well," he muttered, as though Owen were asking a tremendous favor. "You'd better not snore."

"I haven't since I was eight," Owen said, grinning. "Though I could start again if you'd prefer." John declined with as much politeness as he could muster. "So, John, what're you planning to do while we're on vacation?"

"Some vacation. Hang out with Justine, I suppose. You?" John asked, not that he was interested.

"I was mining you for ideas since I haven't really thought about it." Owen tilted his head to one side. "I looked at the statistics on our way here. There are twenty-four thousand personnel aboard this station, eight hundred pilots, and three thousand battlecruiser crew members. Of those, approximately 38.4% are human females. I say the chances are looking good for me."

"Do whatever you want, Owen, but Justine's off limits."

"Hey hey hey, why don't you let the lady decide?" Owen answered smoothly.

"I believe that she chose me," John coolly pointed out.

"Well, women tend to change their minds quickly and often -" Owen suggested.

"In your dreams."

Owen sat upright on his bunk. "Say, John, on a more serious note ... what do you think has been going on with Noriath?"

John frowned. "I wish I knew. It looks like a case of too much fertilizer and not enough gardeners, if it weren't for the sleeping gas. Whatever it is, I don't like it. Just ... how do I say it?"

"Too many things unexplained?"

"Yeah, exactly." John looked up at Owen. "I've never taken a mission that dealt with an entire planet. The closest time was ... Serapa, maybe. At first I was under the impression that this was just a simple technical failure. I'm not so sure anymore."

Owen nodded. "It'll be alright, just do the job, that sort of thing. Why, there was this one time I had to defuse an antimatter warhead before the magnetic shields around it collapsed. If I'd been two seconds slower we wouldn't have a Libra quadrant today."

In his mind, John weighed the loss of the Libra quadrant against the benefit of being rid of Owen. A pretty even trade, actually. "Oh, really? Or is this another legendary Custer tall tale?"

"I'll tell you more about that particular mission later," Owen promised, not in the least offended by John's manner. "In the meantime, though, we're supposed to meet at the bridge for a full briefing in one standard hour; we're gonna be late if we don't hurry. C'mon, last one to the elevator is space bait." John won that particular race by a hairbreadth.

While the elevator was ascending for the long crawl towards the bridge, Owen asked, "Say, do you suppose that I could find a girlfriend or two on the station?"

"Why would you need two? And didn't you already charm someone on the battlecruiser?"

"Yeah, but I figure it's okay so long as they don't find out about each other."

John snorted. "That's a cynical, if interesting, way of looking at things. Did you hear the story of how Armstrong Houston's girlfriend -"

"Don't remind me," Owen said, wincing. "What happened to Armstrong is my personal nightmare. Still, it was good for shutting him up about how he'd never met his match before. Anyway, I'm not afraid of that sort of thing occurring here. I mean, c'mon, a station of this size with twenty-eight thousand people? What are the chances of two - or three or four - girlfriends suddenly running into each other and sharing their experiences?"

"You sure are ambitious," John noted. "What do you want to do with your life, Owen?"

"Me?" Owen seemed genuinely taken aback at first. He tilted his head to the side as he considered his answer. "Well, I want to be rich and alive, of course. Though that isn't why I became a bounty hunter. Actually, it goes back farther than that, much farther." He sighed, a sigh conveying a deep, heartfelt tone of loss and regret. "My father was a harsh man and a heavy drinker. When I was twelve, he ... I dunno, he just ... lost it one night while drunk ... and beat my mother and me. My mother didn't survive for very long. When she died, in that hospital bed, I just ... I simply snapped. I'd lost the one person precious to me. The thought of what my father had done ... it was just too much. I must have gone wild; I don't remember exactly what happened after my mother said her last words, but the next time I was conscious, I was standing over my father's corpse, covered in blood. None of it was my own. As you can imagine, I had to run from the authorities, so I took on a new identity. Owen Custer isn't my real name. I doubt anyone knows who I really am - heck, sometimes even I forget, especially when I'm getting drunk. Which, come to think of it, sounds like a really good idea; how about a drink after the briefing?"

John St.-Varda wasn't quite sure what to make of Owen's story; fortunately, the quiet hiss of the elevator doors sliding open kept him from having to say anything. The bridge deck of the station was absolutely enormous, like a giant version of the battlecruiser's bridge. Only that here the viewscreen spanned the entire circumference of the floor. The meeting was obviously being held in the very center of the bridge, which measured a good kilometer in diameter. John and Owen scrambled to their seats; nearly everyone else, including Samus Aran and Tim McDalen, were already present.

After a few more minutes, an officer stood up and walked to the front of the assembled personnel. "My name is Colonel Ronald Johnson, and I will be your commander for this mission. Headquarters has decided to go ahead with the mission, so I'll outline it for you here." A large holographic display materialized in front of the personnel and Colonel Johnson stepped around it. "This is a schematic of Sa'is Da'ar, the latest from the fleet camped around it. The battle fleet is needed elsewhere, so we will be going to relieve them. As you can see, the city sprawls nearly ten kilometers in every direction. We happen to be interested in its spaceport and telecommunications center, which are located near the center of the city. Now," he punched a switch on his remote control, "take a topographical view."

Tim McDalen winced. "Looks like it's been completely overgrown by those strange plants." He glanced up at the colonel. "Sir, there aren't illegal experiments going on that we shouldn't know about ... are there?"

Johnson sighed. "Officially, I can neither confirm nor deny the rumors, but the answer is no. At least, none that the Federation knows of. HQ is quite perplexed about this one. Our scouts around Noriath have identified multiple sources around the city which are emitting sleeping gas." The view of Sa'is Da'ar faded out and was replaced by a skeletal hologram. "Part of this mission involves sending a team of scientists down there to take a sample and a military escort to neutralize each of the gas fountains. However, the main objective cannot wait, and it remains the recovery of Sa'is Da'ar's main communications outlet."

The map zoomed in on a large structure next to the spaceport, some thirty stories tall. "This is the communications building. As you can see, it is directly attached to the spaceport and the large radar dish built into its roof provides the main means of communications from Noriath. The communications array is powered by four separate power stations located around Sa'is Da'ar; failure of any one of them knocks it out." Colonel Johnson highlighted the four power stations on the Sa'is Da'ar city plan. "As you can see, all four of them have been overgrown. Energy readings for the buildings are all negative. The main mission is as follows: you will divide into four separate teams. Each team will consist of two military squads as escorts, one technical squad, and one bounty hunter - or, in officer McDalen's case, one Praetor.

"Your assignments are as follows: Squads A and E and Technical Squad A are assigned to Team Alpha. Your objective is the northeast power plant. You will land outside the city somewhat north of the plant. Get it restarted and hold it.

"Squads B and F and Technical Squad B are assigned to Team Beta. Your objective is the north power plant and you will land directly north of it. Restart the plant and defend it.

"Squads C and G and Technical Squad C are assigned to Team Gamma. Your objective is the southeast power plant, and you will land directly east of it. Get to the power plant, restart it, and defend it."

"Squads D and H and Technical Squad D are assigned to Team Delta. Your objective is the southwest power plant, and you will land south of it. Reactivate the plant and defend it.

"Once all four power plants are active and secured, all four teams are to converge on the communications center and all transport ferries are to return to the Star Shard. When the communications array has been restarted, one squad from each team will stay behind to guard it. The remainder of the teams are to return to the Sa'is Da'ar main spaceport; your evacuation will be there once communications are back online.

"Team Omega will be landing on the Sa'is Da'ar spaceport at approximately the same time the other four teams land around the city. I will accompany Team Omega in order to direct the mission on the ground. One squad will stay behind to secure the spaceport; the other three will fan out, establish a defensive perimeter, and clear out the communications center if anything is in it. Also, they will be searching for survivors. Two additional squads will on standby in the Star Shard if further reinforcements are necessary. The Star Shard will also have two fighter complements on standby should aerial support be required. Remember, your primary objective is to get the communications array back online. Don't put the technical crews in jeopardy. Once the array is functioning again, the Federation will send a full-scale military task force to rebuild Sa'is Da'ar. Any questions?"

"I have one, sir," McDalen spoke up. "What if the power plants have been destroyed entirely and it's not just a technical problem? What should we do then?"

"Return to the spaceport," Johnson replied. "There, the team leader will report directly to me. We haven't neglected that possibility, though; headquarters gives it a twelve percent estimate."

"Sir." This time, the question was from a member of the technical crew. "Exactly what plant has overgrown the city?"

Graylan shook his head slowly. "Headquarters did some orbital analysis without finding anything significant, so we still don't know. The scientists have orders to bring some samples back for analysis. Headquarters will be most interested in hearing what they have to say."

Silence.

"Dismissed." Johnson strode away; John and Owen looked at each other. "Seems pretty straightforward," Owen noted. "Still, there's something I don't like about this mission."

"Yeah ... too many things left unexplained," John commented. "You get the feeling it's not just a simple case of plant infestation."

"Well, I prefer to let the Federation worry about that. I'm just doing this mission for the money." Owen yawned. "I could use a good drink right now. What about you, John? Care to join me down at the crew lounge? I'll pay for the drinks."

John debated whether or not to go. "Sounds interesting," he said at last. "Sure, let's go."

Half an hour later, Owen sidled up to the bar and invited John. "Here, try this." He poured himself a shot of the bottle's contents and handed the rest of the bottle to John. There was a pause as he tilted his head back and forced his drink down. "Ahh ... yes, that was good ..."

"What is this stuff, anyway?" John asked.

"Heh heh heh ... it's a specialty from Mandragora. They call it Exploda."

"Exploda? Sounds like my kind of drink." John poured himself a small glass and tried to take it down in one gulp as Owen had done. Unfortunately, his throat quickly rebelled and the contents of his mouth ended up all over the counter. "Good stuff, eh?" Owen asked.

"Son of a - you could power a battlecruiser with this stuff." John shook his head clear. "That's enough, thank you; I'm not a heavy drinker."

"Excuses, excuses," Owen ribbed, grinning. Then he looked over John's head. "Hey, Justine, try some of this?"

"No, thanks," she said, sliding into the seat next to John's. "I'm not a drinker."

"It's a carbonated beverage," Owen promised, the expression on his face saying trust me.

"Don't believe him," John warned. "Justine, what're you doing up here so soon? Didn't you have some supplies to see to? Not that I'm complaining or anything," he added hastily.

She smiled. "The crew finished early, so I'm just kicking back and relaxing. Owen, how'd you get involved in this dirty business?"

Owen shook his head. "It's not a pretty story. I told John earlier; ask him if you really want to know." He paused for a moment. "Say, John, I told you why I'm a bounty hunter, now why don't you tell me your story?"

"Yeah, sure." John stared into the bottle of Exploda for a moment before he continued. "Actually, I never went through any life-shattering experiences - at least none before I became a bounty hunter. You see, I was raised in a poor family in the Gigas quadrant, but I always had a talent for ... well, getting into trouble. That more than anything made me decide to be a bounty hunter, that and the fact that my family wasn't exactly well off. It's been a long time; I started when I was in my late teens, and I've been at this sort of work for nearly fifteen years.

"Ten years ago, during the course of a mission I met my best friend Nathan Peters, better known in the bounty hunters' world as 'Wraith.' You've heard of him, haven't you? Wraith and I were like brothers; we trusted each other implicitly. He knew that I'd always have his back covered and I knew that he'd always have my back covered. We took every mission together for eight years. But then ... Samus Aran murdered Wraith." John stared into his cup, forcing back his memories to the surface. "It was just a freak accident, really, and we weren't even supposed to be involved, but we just happened to be there. So we did something really stupid in hindsight; we tried to rescue the victims of a tunnel collapse before the bullet train could arrive and run them all over. Samus operated the escape elevator. And then, when Wraith and I had gotten everyone out, Samus just - left - him in the tunnel. Wraith was killed by the bullet train. That's why Samus and I don't exactly ... get along well.

"Ever since then, I've always hunted alone."

"Wow," Owen half-whistled, "what a story. Must be terrible to live with those sort of memories, huh?"

John shook his head clear. "I'm sorry, I shouldn't have said all that -"

"Nonsense, John," Justine interrupted firmly, "it helps to be able to talk things out. The memory will hurt more if you keep it bottled inside. Owen and I don't mind - right, Owen?" Owen caught Justine's wink and quickly nodded in agreement.

"Thanks, Justine. You understand; you always do." John put his glass down. "How ironic, isn't it? For this mission I'm going to be paired up with Samus Aran. After two years of constantly hunting him, finally he's in my reach." Catching the expression on Owen's face, John quickly added, "Don't get me wrong, Owen, I don't intend to kill him on the mission. The mission always comes before everything else."

"Tim McDalen's motto," Owen muttered. "Well, John, however you intend to kill Samus, I wish you luck, 'cause frankly I think you're no match for him. But that's just me. If you do manage to pull it off, at least you'll have undeniable bragging rights. Still, I think we're boring Justine with this sort of talk."

"Not at all," Justine responded smoothly. "Say, do either of you know any female bounty hunters?"

John and Owen traded a look. "Hmm, let's see," Owen mumbled, scanning through his memory. "There's the Death Wing lieutenant who went renegade many years ago. Who is it ...? Ah, that's right. Her callsign's Angel ... she's technically an AAA-class soldier, but let's be serious, she's a tough one. Rumor has it that she faced Samus and Ridley together and neither one of them could touch her. No other woman even comes close. It's just a story, though - nobody knows the truth of it."

"AAA-class ...?" Justine mused. "Didn't realize there was one."

"Bounty hunters are divided into classes by their efficiency," John explained. "You already know this, but lowest is C, then you go up through B, A, AA, AAA, S, SA, and SX at the top. Not many SXs, I think they number in the double digits. Low double digits." He winked at Justine. "I happen to be rated SX and Tim McDalen would easily fit up there, too. Samus is also SX. Owen ... I'm not so sure of."

"I'm in a class by myself," Owen boasted good-naturedly.

"Oh, really," John retorted. "I didn't know there was anything below C."

"That's where you belong," Owen replied, grinning. "Actually, I'm SA. There's even an official document floating around which proves it, but good luck finding it."

"Wow, four top-of-the-line hunters, huh?" Justine asked. "This mission must be awfully important."

"Actually, Owen and I were talking about that possibility," John said soberly. "You think there's something the Federation's not telling us? I get the feeling that headquarters knows a lot more than it's willing to say. I mean, just listen to the recording that they have of the technical crew."

Owen frowned. "Recording? What recording?"

"You know, the one where the first mate is making his report and suddenly cuts off, and then you hear some firing go on -"

"Can't say I've listened to or even heard of such a recording, John," Owen replied with a straight face.

Taken aback, John could only stammer, "What? But the commissar played it for me and ..."

"There's something fishy going on here," Owen declared. "Can you find that recording for me, please?"

"I couldn't, but Justine might be able to."

Justine shook her head. "Don't count on it. Something like that would probably be at least Level-5 classified already, which means that there are no free copies circulating anywhere. This mission is priority one, so anything relating to it would be heavily classified."

"Didn't think of that," John said. "Hmm ... well, don't worry about it. Just bring some firepower along."

"Firepower? That's my middle name."

"John ..."

"It'll be alright, Justine. Owen and I both know what we're doing. At least, I think he does." John stood up. "Excuse me for a moment, will you? Where's the nearest head?" Justine pointed in a direction and John walked away.

Justine was alone when he returned. "Eh? Where's Owen? I thought he'd be making a pass at you."

Justine laughed, a chuckle indicative of amusement. "He tried. I said that I was taken, and up he goes without a word. Look, John, he's over there now." She indicated a table where Owen was vividly waving his arms, doubtlessly recreating a mission to make it look more dangerous than it actually had been. "I watched him while we were aboard the battlecruiser. Owen's a favorite with the girls, as well as being a decent storyteller." She caught John's look. "Don't underestimate him, John, just because he's showy. He's every bit as dangerous as you."

"I'll remember that," John promised.

John passed the remaining days on Sagittarius in comparative idleness, seeing Justine only on occasion, developing a strange sort of respect for Owen Custer, and at times drilling with Tim McDalen and the Federation squads. The three days were up all too quickly and John found himself on the base of the ramp leading up into the Star Shard. "This is where we part, at least for now," he said to Justine.

"Stay safe, John, and come back in one piece." Her eyes were filled with concern for him.

"Yeah, I will. Take care."

"You too." They kissed, a long kiss that stretched on until Tim McDalen yelled at John to board the 'cruiser or risk being left behind. John and Justine parted; slinging a duffel bag over his shoulder, he strode up the ramp in heavy steps, his boots echoing oddly off the steel ramp. At the top he paused and turned around to wave, but she was no longer there. A moment later the ramp closed and the Star Shard's powerful engines came to life. Confused, John simply stood there for an instant; the ship lurched and threw him off his feet, sliding down the deck in an undignified heap. He crashed against something unyielding and looked up just in time to see Owen Custer. Owen split his sides laughing.

"Oh stuff it," John muttered, picking himself up and dusting himself off. "You're just jealous that you don't have a girlfriend."

"On the contrary," Owen corrected him, "I have many. I am a strong believer in the need to maintain connections wherever I go." John groaned. Owen waved him down the corridor. "C'mon; your girlfriend got you a better room this time, and you have it to yourself, lucky dog. You better treat her real well, you hear? Not every day that a girl like that comes along."

"Yeah, that's true. A room to myself, how nice. I think I'll crash for a couple of weeks."

Two days later, the Star Shard gently settled into orbit around Noriath. John woke up just in time to hear the blast of rocket engines indicating another fleet speeding off towards Sagittarius Station. He glanced at his chronometer; it was time. John heaved himself out of bed and began to suit up. First was his headgear. A headband went around his forehead, one small eyescope lowering itself over his left eye. This left his other eye free. He'd been issued a gas mask earlier, one of those cutting-edge designs that weighed about two grams. This he sealed over his nose, mouth, and chin. Next he donned his utility belt, a belt that held his communications gear and several spare clips of ammunition. After that, the boots went on his legs, each one protected by a thin layer of steel in front and fitting tightly against his legs. Finally, the body armor: a breastplate went over his chest, the epaulets resting lightly on his shoulders. It was firm but not tight; John slid the side straps into each other and pulled the armor up against his shirt. He picked up his rifle, a C-228 Crystal Rifle that he'd heavily modified over the years. It was long and slim, an elegant and deadly weapon with up to two magazines attachable above the trigger mechanism. Two red stripes were painted diagonally down the barrel. His outfit complete, John went out of the room and headed for the transport bay.

Tim McDalen was there, dressed in the standard uniform of a Federation Praetor. So was Samus Aran in her distinctive armored suit. A moment later, Owen Custer came rushing down a passageway, nearly colliding with John. His outfit was a mixture of a cowboy look and various high-tech weaponry, complete with a ten-gallon hat from which a red-tinted combat visor hung. Tim indicated each hunter's assignment and they filed away wordlessly, John glancing down at his mission folder: Squad C. John's transport was located on the far side of the deck. He crossed it in long, purposeful strides and slipped into the ship.

Wordlessly John found a seat amongst the military personnel and shouldered his weapon. Each soldier wore the look of a veteran who had seen it all. Silence reigned, at least until the transport's rocket engines roared and they were off in space. Both sides of the transport had viewports and John glanced outside the directly opposite him. There were quiet conversations; no one bothered to talk to John. He sat back and tried to relax, a dark shape in a corner with no name. The team commander stood and began to talk about their mission. Not really paying attention, John only caught snippits of the briefing. "... and ... the power station ... in three standard hours ... at all costs ..."

The officer completed the briefing. John focused his eyes on the viewscreen as a turn of the transport brought Noriath into view. He hadn't realized that it was so close; they must already be well within the atmosphere. "Beautiful, isn't it?" a soldier whispered to him. Outside, a Federation fighter banked over the transport, obscuring the view for a moment.

John stared. "Yeah, it is. I've seen pictures before, but ... yeah, beautiful."

"I've never seen a planet like this before," the soldier continued. "I've spent nearly my whole life on an industrial world. So ... this is what it looks like up close. Noriath. Beautiful. Makes you wish that all our planets look like it, doesn't it?"

A blast of retrorockets prevented John from replying. He breathed in deeply, exhaled slowly. It was time to be professional. This is it.